


Visitors

by SBB



Category: Loki - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBB/pseuds/SBB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca's mother is ill and the family has an unexpected visitor who comes to a surprising conclusion about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitors

Visitors

By SBB

 

              My name is Rebecca, and the long and short of it was that my mother, Joanna, was sick. No, I will amend that; she was dying of cancer.  I thought for quite some time that mom was just sick but it took a while for me to wrap my head around the fact that Jim, my dad, and I were going to lose her and that we didn’t have a lot of time. The doctors sent her home from the hospital because there were no more treatments to help her.  I took the semester off from college and Dad and I took turns sitting with her, making sure she was never alone, and never frightened if we could help it.

            We both wanted to do something special for her while there was still time but time ran short; her illness progressed much faster than anyone thought.  So, we couldn’t take her to Italy, our original plan, because she was too weak. So we thought about what we could do, and then my dad had a brainstorm. My mother was a big fan of the character Loki in the Thor and Avenger movies and the actor who played him, Tom Hiddleston.  Mom talked a lot about how nice he was to his fans and what a generally great guy Tom is.  Dad and I decided to go kind of the “Make a Wish” route and contact Tom’s agent or publicist and ask if Tom could make a brief phone call to my mom or send her an autographed picture, or something to brighten her last few months.  So, we did - we sent off letters to everyone and hoped against hope that the letters would reach Tom somehow, and that he would do something for my mom.

            A month or so went by and my mother visibly failed.  We heard from no one concerning Tom and assumed that the letters hadn’t reached him or his people. We thought he was the type of person who would reach out for a dying fan.  In my mind he resembles J.K. Rowling who went to the hospital room of a little boy who was a big Harry Potter fan, but was not going to live to read the last book. She read him the last book, under promise of secrecy so that he got to know the end of the story before he died. Her kindness to that child always made me a little teary. I always imagined Tom doing something like that.  So, we were disappointed, but since we had not told my mom about this, it was not a disappointment for her.

            We knew we were very close to the end and alerted family members that they should prepare to gather if they wanted to see her one last time.  Relatives and friends came from out of town and in town and spent a lot of time with Mom.  The day finally came when we decided the time for visitors was done because they exhausted her too much.  She’d said good-bye to everyone she needed to see and we would have her last few days or hours just for us.  We needed to slow things down and concentrate on being with her.

            We put Mom in a chaise lounge out in the back yard which overlooks a lovely view of woods and water.  It was a warm and sunny day and she enjoyed being outside, feeling the sun on her face, and seeing the sky.  She was hooked up to a morphine pump for the pain but she needed it less when she was outside. I sat with her and my dad was inside when we heard a knock at the front door.  This was not unexpected as our neighbors and friends brought by casseroles and offered us help and support.  My father opened the door and was stunned to see Tom Hiddleston himself standing at our front door, his car and driver right in front of our house.  He wore a beautifully cut suit, his hair was blond and curly and his normally merry face worried and concerned.

            Dad called me to the door, we invited him in and introduced ourselves (I could barely breath, much less talk) and looked at Tom in bewilderment as he explained that he’d been in Washington, DC and found out that we didn’t live very far away and on the spur of the moment decided to come down and see if my mom was well enough to see him.  He apologized for not contacting us earlier but apparently the letter went astray and took a very long time to reach him.  He went online and discovered that my mother still lived and so came out to our house.  He apologized again and again in his charming way, the blue-green eyes full of concern for causing us pain.

            My dad said that it was time that Tom met my mom, who was the reason he so kindly came to our house. Tom agreed readily and the three of us walked into the yard where my mother lay in the sunshine.  I got out my phone and asked if taking some pictures of him with our family were all right.  He told us that was a great idea and took one photo of him with my mom and another of himself and me. Our visitor turned to my dad and me and asked if he could spend some time alone with Joanna and that he’d call for us right away if there were any need.  We smiled at him and at each other. I burst into tears and thanked him for coming to make my mom’s last days very special; he hugged me and told me how honored he felt to get our letter.  We all wiped our eyes at that point and he stayed out with my mother; my dad and I went back inside and watched them through the sliding glass door. 

            Tom sat down in the chair beside my mother’s chaise, gently touched her arm and spoke her name. She woke, saw his face, and smiled and laughed, the first time we’d heard her do that in a long time.  He introduced himself as and leaned over and took her head gently in his hands and kissed her cheek.  My mother laughed again and soon the two of them were off to the races in a rapid conversation - they both talked and laughed a great deal. Dad and I couldn’t follow it so we went about our business in the house, occasionally hearing my mother’s laugh and Tom’s “Ehehehehe” laugh which I’d heard so often in movies and interviews I watched with my mom. This wonderful time for my mother went on for almost two hours during which my dad and I took tea and some nice cookies out to them (our concession to Tom’s being a Brit). They barely looked at us; their conversation so engrossed them.

            After a while, Dad and I noticed that it was quiet outside and we heard no more conversation and laughter.  We wondered if my mother were asleep and Tom just sitting there.  We looked out the door and to our astonishment saw that Tom sat on the side of my mother’s chaise and cradled her upper body in his arms, her head resting on his chest.  He rocked her in his arms and to our astonishment, wept, Tears coursed down his face; he wept as only a man does.  My mother was weak and unable to sit up on her own but she stroked his face with her hand and said “It’s alright darling, it’s alright.  I’m not in any pain now and I’ll see you again soon.  I’m not going very far away, after all.  You’ll always be able to find me, if you need to. It’s alright dear, it’s all right.  Just cry it out.”

            As she said this, Tom said, “Please don’t leave me, I just can’t stand it.  Please don’t leave me.  I’m so so sorry for everything I’ve done and for all the ways I’ve hurt you.” Then he wept some more.

            To put it mildly my father and I were dumbfounded. I told my dad that as far as I knew, Tom’s mother was still living, so his behavior was inexplicable.  Of course I didn’t know him and had no idea whom he loved and lost.  Perhaps he revisited the death of a grandmother or dear friend.  It was so sad and so surprising.

            Suddenly Tom gently lay my mother back down, kissed her forehead, jumped up and ran in to find us.  “I’m so sorry, he said, “But I think I’ve taken her last few hours for myself.  I think she’s dying - now.”  We ran out to the chaise where my mother lay breathing very heavily. We tried to get her attention but she’d slipped into semi-consciousness.  I told my dad to take her hand and tell her to squeeze his hand if she knew he was there.  He did so and turned to us, tears on his face, and told us that she squeezed his hand; she knew we were there. 

            My father got on the chaise lounge and held her in his arms while Tom and I each took one of her hands.  All three of us cried like children.  After a few minutes my father said he thought Mom stopped breathing, and that was the case.  I found no pulse at her neck so we knew she was gone.

            My father got up and called 911 while Tom prepared to leave.  He left very quickly but not before he slipped an envelope into my mother’s hand.  He kissed my cheek and hugged me, hugged my dad and was out the door very quickly.  A few minutes later the ambulance arrived, and the process that begins with the death of a member of the family started.

            This sounds like the end of the story, but it isn't.  About a week after the funeral my father and I received a letter with a British stamp and postmark.  We opened it and saw that it was a letter of apology from Tom’s publicist and enclosed was a note from Tom himself.  The publicist apologized profusely that they received the letter about my mother’s illness too late. They researched online and found the notice of her funeral.  It was with great regret, etc.  The note Tom wrote was a very kindly and heartfelt condolence letter and expressed his regret that he never met my mother and was sorry he could not fulfill our request. He said “I’m so sorry,” at least four times in the letter.

            OK… this all made absolutely no sense. If Tom received our letter when it was too late, who came and sat, talked, laughed and cried with us on the day my mother died? Did we share a delusion or hallucination? That wasn’t it, I knew.  We were uncertain what to do – should we call the psychiatrist or the priest?  We were in quite a state until my father said, “Wait! I remember something.  Do you remember Tom’s putting something in your mother’s hand before he left?  I took it out of her hand before they removed the body but I never looked at it. I don’t even know where it is!”

            “I remember!  I’ll get it,” I said, and ran to the secretary desk where we put our most important little doo dads.  I opened the desk and saw the envelope addressed to “Jim and Rebecca” in an elegant script.  I looked at my father.

            “Open it!” he croaked.  So I did.  There was a short note in the same elegant script, and a photo.  I read the letter:

 

> _Dear Jim and Rebecca,_
> 
> _Clearly I owe you two some explanation of my actions the last day of Joanna’s life.  I explain it all in the picture enclosed.  I assure you that I do not normally do things like this. I despise anything to do with sentiment, I hate it! However, I felt called upon to come to your home and spend time with your family. I hope you don’t mind._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _L.L_.

             Dad and I almost tore the picture in two in our efforts to see it.  To our surprise, the picture moved like the pictures in the Harry Potter books but this one talked as well.  Loki Laufeyson looked at us from the picture he took with my mom. The real Loki, not Tom the actor, smiled at us from the picture.  I don’t know why I knew this except that the letter and the photo tingled and vibrated with what I thought must be magic.  Loki wore his green robes and his long curly black hair brushed his shoulders. My mother smiled at him and at us from the photo. He smiled at us, and spoke.

 

>             _As you have undoubtedly figured out, I am Loki of Asgard, and I will tell you about my afternoon with Joanna._
> 
> _I told you that I despise sentiment but I found this situation different.  I intercepted the letters to Tom Hiddleston because I wanted to handle the situation with your mother; I knew I could do it right. Tom’s mother is still living but my mother is dead, and I know the pain of losing her. I decided to do something for someone other than myself this time. Just this time, mind you._
> 
> _As you may know, I am a shape-shifter and often duplicate myself. So I decided not to alarm the two of you by appearing at your door as the god that I am. I duplicated myself so that you saw Tom Hiddleston (such an attractive young man!) but your mother saw the true me and we spent the last few hours of her life together._
> 
> _When I first sat down beside her I touched her and relieved her pain. Without the pain-killers her mind cleared and she enjoyed her last few hours of life with the God of Mischief himself, me._
> 
> _Normally I’m not overly fond of mortals but I've been learning and I found your mother a delightful and intelligent woman.  She certainly appreciated all of my positive qualities which so many people miss entirely. She was like my mother in this. I enjoyed my time with her, strange to say. I never thought a mortal woman could hold my interest for more than just a few minutes._
> 
> _We talked and laughed for a very long time and when I realized your mother was really dying, I realized that along with you, I was here to say good-bye. You see, I never said good-bye to my mother; I was locked in a cell when the thing killed her and I could not protect her, tell her how much I loved her, or say good-bye to her.  The fault lies entirely with Odin and Thor. My feelings about my mother temporarily overwhelmed me and I found that when I said good-bye to your mother, I also said good-bye to mine. That’s when, damned be sentiment again, I took her in my arms and wept.She became Frigga for me for a little while.  She responded to me just as my own mother would have. She stroked my hair and face and comforted me while she lay dying.  I had no idea that mortal mothers are so similar to godly ones until I met Joanna. I hope that in return I comforted her some. I think I did.  She enjoyed my company certainly._
> 
> _So, Jim and Rebecca, I thank you for those last hours with Joanna.  It may comfort you to know that after she breathed her last I escorted her to the place of the bright light where people who love her ran to meet her.  I hope that is a good thing for you to hear about her death; I certainly don’t get it.I will be watching you two for all your lives and if I’m not in prison somewhere will help you when I can. I will see you again._
> 
> _By the way, if my “brother” Thor comes looking for me, please deny that you’ve seen me.  It’s for the best, believe me.  Also, I left you two a little something that you might find helpful someday. Don’t look for it; you will know it when you see it._

           So that is the story of the day of my mother died and how we met Loki. My father and I talk about it every once in a while and when we doubt our sanity we get out Loki’s photo and letter and there it all is.  We ask the photo to talk to us again but it always says the same thing and that’s fine.  We have no idea what it is that Loki left us but I assume we will find it someday.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in memory of my mother Marguerite and my sister Barbara, both of whom we lost to cancer.


End file.
